Christmases When You Were Mine
by 2q21
Summary: Remember this time last year? She did. Very well. In fact, it was all she was thinking of when Sam had his arm resting on her thigh during dinner.  Quick Christmas fic.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: ****I threw this together because it has been haunting me. Un-beta'd. Will probably write part two when I get off work. **

**Happy Holidays everyone!**

**I don't own the characters or Glee**

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Quinn was surrounded by her mother, her grandparents and her adoring boyfriend on Christmas Eve and all she could think about was _him_. She hated being so damn drawn to him still, but she couldn't help it, he was and always would be the father of her child.

Sam was the quarterback, cute, attentive, respectful, and her mother and grandparents loved him. So why didn't_ she_? She'd tried, she really had, but he didn't spark anything more than a forced smile when he said the dorky-cute things that made the other girls giggle. Her eyes were always drawn to another boy in glee, one that donned a Mohawk and had recently been in juvie.

What was wrong with her? She had the perfect guy wrapped around her finger, but all she wanted was the _wrong_ one.

* * *

Puck was relaxing on the couch in the living room watching _A Christmas Story_. He'd end up watching it another three or four times, but it was one of the few traditions he had, especially since he didn't actually celebrate Christmas.

He played with his phone, sliding the keyboard back and forth. He was getting bored of Santana. Sure she was a warm body, and she was willing whenever, but there was no challenge. He scrolled back up from her name and looked a few contacts above her – Quinn.

He tapped her name and hit "Send Message". The message screen promptly appeared. He typed _Hey_ and erased it three times. She was busy. She wouldn't talk to him at school. She had probably blocked his number. If he was going to text her, it had to be something better than "hey".

* * *

Quinn's phone vibrated in her cardigan. She contemplated ignoring it, but it could be important.

She looked at the phone with scrunched eyebrows.

Puck: _Remember this time last year?_

She did. Very well. In fact, it was all she was thinking of when Sam had his arm resting on her thigh during dinner.

Quinn: _How could I forget watching that stupid Christmas Story movie more times than I can count?_

She knew what he really meant, but she couldn't bring herself to admit there was ever anything more than sex that ever happened between the two of them. Especially since she was so happy (content) with Sam.

* * *

He should have expected that response. She'd been denying and ignoring the major events of the entire past year.

Puck: _A year ago today I felt her kick for the first time._

Her heart skipped a beat when she read his message.

She looked up at the chandelier in the dining room, remembering the events of a year ago. How she was living with Puck, resting against him watching _A Christmas Story_ for the first time that night. Feeling the baby moving, she grabbed his hand out of excitement and pressed it to the baby bump. When he didn't feel anything, she pressed his hand a little harder until the baby girl finally kicked him.

She was caught up in her memories when her phone vibrated again.

Puck: _I miss her. I miss you._

_

* * *

_

Shit. He didn't mean to send the last message. He wished there was some kind of cosmic undo button, there was so much he would take back. But there wasn't, and she had probably just read that.

Quinn: _I can't do this. I'm with Sam._

Since he'd already gone there, he might as well make it worthwhile.

Puck: _He can't give you what I have._

* * *

Quinn: _Are you drunk?_

He had (surprisingly) respected the fact that she was with Sam the entire time they were dating. He hadn't tried to make a move; he'd barely spoken to her. It wasn't fair that he was doing this to her on Christmas Eve, with her boyfriend's arm around her.

* * *

Puck scoffed. She thought he was drunk. Great.

Puck: _No I'm not drunk. I'm trying to be honest. It's the holidays and shit. _

Quinn: _Not tonight._

Puck: _What better time?_

_

* * *

_

Sam asked who she was texting, she said it was Brittany. Now she was lying to her boyfriend. She made a mental note for a New Year's resolution to stop that, though it was also her resolution for 2010.

Quinn: _I'm getting ready to go to midnight mass. I have to go. Turning my phone off._

She hated the way he rattled her, even over text. He knew what to say to get to her. She wasn't even sure Sam knew what her favorite color was.

* * *

Puck tossed his phone across the couch. Now this, _this_ was a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn't sure what possessed him to go to his truck, to put the key in the ignition, to drive to her church. He knew where it was because they made a deal when she lived with him that they would attend each other's place of worship once, so long as it was their secret.

He thought Catholics were weird and it was more of an aerobics class than any kind of service, but he did it for her. He spent more time watching the old people, making sure no one broke a hip from the kneeling, and catching whiffs of their flatulence, that it really wasn't that bad. It was entertaining, if nothing else.

So he waited in the parking lot, next to her red Civic, rehearsing what he needed to say to her.

* * *

She'd sent Sam home to be with his family. She had to put in time with his tomorrow, since he'd given up his Christmas Eve to be with hers. She was happy to be rid of him when he drove away. As sweet as he was, it was getting to the point of annoyance. She wasn't some damsel that needed constant affection or saving.

Her mother and grandparents were attending the morning mass, midnight was a bit past their bed time. So she went alone.

All through mass she went through the motions, pausing her incessant memories of Puck and last year long enough to listen to the homily.

* * *

He perked up when people started slowly flooding out of the church. He looked for the blonde, who was shaking hands with the priest.

Puck exited his truck and leaned up against the grill, crossing his arms tighter into his Carhart to keep warm in the cold Ohio night.

She fumbled through her purse, looking for her keys, mindlessly walking toward her car.

When she finally looked up, she saw him.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" she asked, forcing the calmness in her voice.

"I needed to see you," he said honestly.

"We said all we needed to say earlier."

"No," he said, pushing himself off his Chevy, "_you_ said what _you_ needed to say, and then you cut me off."

She rolled her eyes. "There's a reason for that."

"I just," he ran his hands through his Mohawk, "really needed to talk to someone who understands."

She softened her stance. "It's too cold, too late, and I'm with Sam," she reminded him.

"Fuck Sam," he said harshly before looking to the church behind her. He looked to the pavement in a silent apology to Quinn and God.

She wanted to scold him, but she didn't have it in her. He had been haunting her all night. She couldn't admit to herself that she was slightly flattered that he had made an extra effort to talk to her, especially since she constantly pushed the boy away.

"Why now?" she asked.

"I told you, she kicked my hand a year ago," he muttered.

Quinn's walls crumbled before his eyes. She smiled reminiscently. She quickly realized her vulnerability was showing and had to break the tension.

"I—I can't," she panicked, moving to get into her car. He quickly positioned himself between Quinn and the Civic.

"Let me buy you dinner," he propositioned.

"It's almost two in the morning," she reminded him.

"Okay, coffee then. Denny's is open, what do you say?"


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm personally fine with leaving this as it is, but I have a feeling that my encouraging (demanding) muse will inspire me to write more. We'll see. **

**As always, I own nothing.  
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She wasn't sure what possessed her to say 'yes', or to get into his truck. But she had, and there she was. The truck was still warm from when he was waiting on her at the church, which was a relief to her icy cheeks and red nose.

She looked out the window and remembered the last time she was in his truck, when he dropped her off at Mercedes' house. The sad puppy-dog expression he had when he was getting back in the Chevy to leave. She would have stayed if he had asked her, but he didn't, and Mercedes had offered. She was tired of feeling like a burden to him and his family.

She was thankful that his radio was playing classic rock and he was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, hoping he would wait until they were in public to talk.

* * *

He couldn't believe she had agreed. He was thankful that the drive was short, and she was keeping her focus out the window. So he tapped his fingers and hummed along, trying not to pressure her into the looming conversation just yet.

* * *

They arrived in the nearly empty parking lot. Both relieved the awkward car ride was over.

Puck held the door to the restaurant open as she walked through. He wasn't a complete ass, though she had never seen him hold the door for any other girl before, ever.

The hostess seated them, and Puck commented on how bad it must suck to work on Christmas. The hostess agreed and handed them their menus and wished them Happy Holidays.

"I'm starving," Puck said, checking out the menu.

Quinn flipped her menu over and averted her attention to the pattern on the carpet under their feet.

* * *

The waiter finally swaggered over to their table and focused on Quinn a little more than Puck deemed appropriate. Could he not see that Quinn was here with _him_?

Quinn ordered coffee and an ice water. Puck ordered a Coke, chicken strips, fries, waffles and a Grand Slam. She stared at him in disbelief. She knew the boy could eat, but it was the middle of the night.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"I asked if you wanted to eat," he replied.

The waiter returned a few minutes later with their drinks and straws.

"What do you think she's doing now?" he asked while she was taking a sip of her water through a straw. She almost choked, even though she knew it was coming eventually.

"I don't know," Quinn said after a few throat clearing coughs.

"Don't you ever think about her? Where she is? Which one of us she looks like?"

"All the time," she admitted quietly.

He had cracked her. Finally.

He put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her, "I bet she looks even _more_ like you."

She wanted to stop him, she really did. It hurt too much. When she was honest with herself - which was rarely - she needed this. No one else knew the little girl like she and Puck did. She hadn't talked about her with anyone else – no one else would understand.

"All I've thought about today is how different life would be, especially you know, today," he said.

"How much _harder_ it would be," she interrupted.

"I know, I've seen _Teen Mom_," he acknowledged. "But we could have done it. We made a good team. You could have been Good Cop and I'd have been Bad Cop."

"Are you joking? She would have had you wrapped around her little finger. _You_ would have been Good Cop," she said with a hint of a smile.

The waiter interrupted the conversation to bring the food, which Puck glared at him for his timing. He had finally gotten Quinn talking and now she was sure to shut down again.

Puck took the bacon off his plate and gave it to her on a smaller plate. "Here," he said.

She looked at him sideways.

"I know you love bacon, and my Ma wouldn't let you eat it," he smiled. "For old time's sake."

She accepted the small plate and dabbed the grease off with a napkin. "Thanks," she grinned.

By the end of the meal, she was reaching across and grabbing the fries on his plate.

Puck paid for the meal and Quinn thanked him.

He placed his Carhart around Quinn's shoulders, looking back at the waiter to let him know who she was with – even if she really wasn't _with_ him. He knew he would always own a piece of her, not just the piece involving her virginity.

* * *

In the truck, he switched the radio over to Christmas music and they sang along together as they drove back to the church.

When he turned off the truck in the parking lot, he looked at her.

"We should do this every year on Christmas. Midnight meal at Denny's," he offered. "Our own little tradition."

"We should," she nodded and smiled.

"Look," he started. "I know we're not together, and we may never be, but…"

"I know," she interjected. She closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against his.

Before he could deepen the kiss, she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Kind of a filler, the muse requested something, and it will be happening soon, just had to set some things up.**

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He watched her tail lights disappear in the night. He had her again, for a moment. And just like the time before, she was gone way too soon. He banged his palms against the steering wheel and turned the key resting in the ignition.

He looked at his phone, five texts from Santana. He deleted them all without a reply.

* * *

She sped off. She had to get away from him. She couldn't be that girl that continuously cheated on her too-good-for-her boyfriend – with the same Mohawked boy, no less.

She just needed to get home and sleep; after all, she had to be at Sam's house at 9.

* * *

Puck walked into his house, and quietly walked the small hallway back to his room. He flopped on the bed turned on his Playstation. He needed to kill some people, you know, legally. After an hour of terrorizing the Liberty City on _Grand Theft Auto 4 _he finally found peace in the form of sleep.

No chick was _ever_ supposed to affect him like this.

* * *

Her phone vibrated on her nightstand, waking her out of what little sleep she had got. It was Sam.

Sam: _Where r u?_

She hated the way he wouldn't type out the last four letters of that sentence. She wasn't even around him yet and she was already annoyed. She shook her head and reminded herself why she was with him. She aspired to be McKinley's It Couple, Sam was her ticket.

She looked at the clock. 9:30 am.

Quinn: _I just woke up, be there in 30. Sorry._

Sam: _k. drive safe._

She rolled her eyes at his message. Puck would have told her to hurry her ass up, and that she looked fine without makeup – he used to tell her this all the time when they lived together.

Sam was too easy. He never got mad at her, he never argued with her, he took her shit (even when even _she_ knew she was being unreasonable). She knew he was in this for popularity as much as she was, but it didn't make last night okay.

She showered, thinking the whole time how if she'd made a different decision in June, that this morning would be completely different. She and Puck (who accepted the holiday, even if he didn't celebrate it) would be showering the 6 month old with presents on her first Christmas. But someone else was getting that pleasure. A tear escaped her eyes, but it washed away with the warm water spraying her face.

She arrived at Sam's in the half an hour she promised and apologized profusely to his family. Through brunch, she pulled out her phone and held it under the tablecloth.

* * *

Puck's phone vibrated at 10:30am. Who the hell was waking him up? It had better not be some lousy "Merry Christmas" text, when everyone knew he was a Jew.

Quinn: _Merry Christmas_

Of course, it was okay when it was Quinn. He felt the corner of his mouth raise into a little smirk. He slid the keyboard out and typed his reply.

Puck: _is blondie boring you already?_

_

* * *

_

She peeked at her phone under the tablecloth again.

Quinn: _I sent that message to everyone._

She lied.

* * *

He flung himself back on his bed after reading her last message. He didn't reply.

After several hours, his phone vibrated again. He was on another rampage on _GTA 4_. He paused long enough to check his phone.

Quinn: _save me?_

His eyebrows flew up. She never needed his help; he sure as hell wasn't going to pass up the opportunity when she finally _wanted _him to help her.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thanks for all of the sweet reviews and alerts. :) Unbeta'd and I own nothing, as always.**

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Quinn feigned illness at the Evans' house. She couldn't bear the forced laughs, smiles, and general interest any longer. Not when her mind was elsewhere.

She asked Puck to save her, because that is what she needed. Saving. Saving from the suffocation, from the day, from the past year. She wasn't sure if he'd get the actual meaning, or if he'd show up at Sam's on a white horse in shining armor. She shook her head at the thought. That would _never_ be Puck.

She pulled out her phone in her car to send Puck one last text.

Quinn: _meet me at the church?_

_

* * *

_

He had just pulled on his jeans over his boxers when he got her text.

Puck:_ see you there._

Fifteen minutes later he pulled next to her car in the parking lot, like he had done the night before. Only this time, he had been invited.

As soon as the truck stopped moving, she quickly exited her own and climbed in.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I thought about what you said last night," she said.

He looked at her expectantly. "And…?"

"Can you just drive?"

He looked at his gas gauge, ¾ of a tank full, so he turned the key in the ignition and granted her request.

They drove in silence for several miles before either spoke.

"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" he asked again.

He heard what sounded like a sob. Oh God, she was crying. He couldn't stand it when she cried; it always made him feel completely useless. He pulled his truck over on the shoulder of the road, leaving the engine running and his emergency flashers blinking.

"Why did you stop?" she said through her sobs.

"Did he hurt you?" Puck demanded.

Quinn shook her head. Puck sighed in relief. He'd gladly go back to juvie for mutilating the Ken doll if he had hurt her.

Puck leaned back and rested his head on the headrest. She wasn't going to talk until she was ready.

"Do you regret that night?" Quinn finally asked quietly.

Puck leaned toward her. "Never." And he didn't. "Do you?"

She pondered the question for a moment. "No," she whispered.

Their eyes met through a passing car's headlights shining on their faces. Puck reached up and wiped a falling tear from her cheek with his thumb. He let his hand linger for a moment.

She quickly turned her head toward the window, avoiding his gaze.

"This time of year is _always_ going to suck," he said, honestly. "The what might have been's, and what could have been's."

"What will never be," she sobbed and buried her face into the rough material of his Carhart sleeve.

He quickly readjusted and pulled his arm out from under her and put it around her, drawing her into his chest. He wasn't good with these situations, so he just let her cry, soaking his white tee shirt with her tears.

"Do you hate me?" she asked, her voice muffled by his chest.

"What?"

"For giving her up. Do you hate me?" She gripped his jacket a little tighter, bracing for his answer.

"Fuck, no," he said. "Are you kidding me right now?"

She lifted her head long enough to look in his hazel eyes, "Have you forgiven me?"

He broke the stare and looked out the window. That was another question entirely. If he was honest with himself, there may always be a tiny part of him that would resent Quinn's final decision to give her up. For not believing in _them_ enough to give him the chance to prove that he could be a father to their little girl. But he also knew they were too young, and the baby would be better off with someone more capable. It didn't make it hurt any less every day.

"Yes," he whispered. He'd done a lot of soul-searching in juvie. And he _had_ forgiven her, but it had taken time and it hadn't been easy. After all, juvie was a byproduct of losing Beth, and Quinn.

"I haven't," she sniffled, "forgiven myself."

He looked to the ceiling of the truck's cab and placed his large, calloused hand into her blonde hair. He wasn't Puckzilla. He wasn't the badass. He wasn't even number wah. He was just a scared boy in his truck with the girl he loves crying into his shirt.

"You did the right thing, _we_ did the right thing when we signed those papers," he assured her quietly.

She nodded into his chest. "I'm always the one trying to tell you that," she laughed through her tears.

He kissed the top of her head and let his lips linger. He wanted nothing more than to bring her lips to his and show her how much he _didn't_ hate her and how much he _had_ forgiven her. But she was with Sam. They had been down that road before. Karma had bitten him in the ass for hurting his best friend, and even though he couldn't stand Sam at the moment, he still couldn't go there. The next time he had Quinn, _really_ had her, he wanted her to be all _his._ Not just a piece or even half of her. It would never be enough unless he had all of her.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: This is the final chapter. Thanks to everyone that Alerted, Favorite-d, and Reviewed. It is as surprising as it is appreciated (which is a LOT)**

**As always, I don't own anything.**

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They sat in silence just being near each other in the Chevy. The rest of Lima, the rest of the world just stopped.

"There's something I've wanted to ask you," she said.

He shifted uncomfortably. She was going to ask about how many girls he'd slept with, or what juvie was like, or even ask if he still loved her. None of those he really wanted to go into with her right now.

She reached over and touched his Mohawk. He relaxed at the feeling of her hands in his hair.

"Where did this scar come from?" she asked, running her finger up and down the thin bare strip on the back of his head.

He winced slightly.

"A bar fight, when I was 12. Took a beer bottle to the back of the head," he explained as if it was perfectly normal for 12 year-olds to be in bar fights.

She raised her eyebrow in that obvious disbelieving tone, and he looked at the steering wheel like a scolded toddler. That look could make him do or confess anything, he always hoped she didn't know the amount of power she had over him.

"Fine. I fell off a bike when I was a kid."

"And?" she encouraged.

"And what? That's it," he lied.

"You cringed when I asked you what happened, there's more to it," she said.

"My dad was teaching me how to ride a bike when I was 10, I fell, had to get stitches. He left the next day, and we haven't seen him since."

"Oh," she said. "Sorry."

"Don't be. We're better off without him," he muttered. "What's your dad up to anyway?"

She shifted so she was leaning against the passenger side door, resting her legs in his lap. "I don't know, I haven't spoken to him since he threw me out like yesterday's garbage."

"Sorry," he said.

"It wasn't your fault," she said.

"It kinda was," he motioned with his eyebrows.

She laughed, and seeing as she was laughing, he joined in.

Their laughter was interrupted by Puck's cell phone vibrating in his pocket, under her leg. She kicked her legs off so he could get to it. It was his mom.

"Hey Ma," he answered.

Quinn could hear his mother yelling something about it being 4am and asking where he was.

"Okay, Ma, I'll be home soon," he promised. "I'll be careful."

Quinn smiled at how much he loved his mother. It was always one of her favorite things about living with the Puckermans.

He would have been a great father. He _was_ a great father. He never deserted her through the whole pregnancy. He took her in when she was homeless. Sure, he had some questionable ways of obtaining things, but the fact that he tried so hard made Quinn appreciate him even more. He would have done anything for her and the baby.

"Love you, too," he said, rolling his eyes when he looked at Quinn, but she knew better. He was and always would be a family man.

"I didn't know what time it was," she said quietly.

"Me either," he said, stretching in the seat. "I better get you home," he smiled.

She nodded and they listened to the radio all the way back to the church, where her car was waiting.

He wanted to kiss her goodnight, but was waiting for her to make the first move, everything was usually on her terms, at least while they weren't _actually_ together.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, letting her lips linger a moment longer than she had intended.

"Thanks for everything," she breathed into his ear.

And then she was gone. Again.

* * *

Quinn texted him a "Happy New Year" at exactly midnight on January 1st. She dropped her phone when she got a reply, right before Sam kissed her for their New Year's kiss.

* * *

He knew she was with Sam, but he sent the text anyway. He was watching the ball drop with his sister, while his mom worked at the hospital.

Puck: _Happy New Year babe. I still love you._

He didn't expect any kind of reply. It would be just like in June, he'd say his feelings and she'd ignore him. It worked for them.

Then his phone blasted "Cherry Pie" a few minutes later, signaling a text.

Quinn: _Me too._

It was a start.


End file.
